


The Doctor's Rulebook

by megzseattle



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Multi, Occasional angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 18,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: The Doctor has many rules. He's just not aware of some of them until they get broken.





	1. Rule 81 - Don't Park Near a Starbucks

Rose thought she was in for a lecture for sure, the day she spilled coffee on the TARDIS console. She was just leaning over to see what he was working on when a brief moment of turbulence shook the cup in her hand and plop! Hot liquid splashed right over the side in a huge glurp, right smack onto the controls. Rose instinctively held her breath, waiting for the repercussions.

The Doctor, however, ignored her completely and listened closely as the console made a strange whirring sound. He leaned in and examined it as all of the beads of liquid were immediately sucked into the cracks and crevices of the console, leaving it clean and dry.

"Don't feed the TARDIS coffee, Rose," he admonished in a whisper. "She just loves it, and the driving all goes a little wonky after she has some." He fiddled with a knob, which immediately let out a tempermental little spark.

"It was an espresso."

"We have an espresso maker?" the Doctor looked genuinely puzzled.

"I didn't think so," Rose said, "But when I went to make coffee this morning that's what was on the counter."

"Hrm. Rose, what made you spill it?" he asked suspiciously.

"There was a little turbulence right as I was…" Rose stopped. "You don't think…"

"I do. She set this whole thing up. I knew I shouldn't have parked her next to that Starbucks on our last trip to 2012."

The TARDIS made a happy purr and lurched rapidly to the left.

"Are we picking up speed?" Rose asked.

"Yep." The Doctor said. "Hold on tight. You might as well just dump the rest of the cup on there too, now that she's got it in her blood."


	2. Rule 114 - Stay out of my pockets

1.

They were out watching the fireworks on Quintillion Six, sitting together legs swinging on a rock waiting for the show to begin.

"You know, Pond," the Doctor said, "these aren't your average Earth fireworks. They're actually shot down towards the planet's surface from an extremely low orbiting moon. The effect is quite dramatic."

Amy grinned. "They're coming right at you?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said, clearly settling into lecture mode. "Although of course, the geothermal properties of the planet's atmosphere make it impossible for the..." He oomphed as Amy jostled him solidly in the ribs with her elbow.

"Don't destroy the magic of it for me. I want to experience it without knowing for sure that it's perfectly safe, okay? More fun that way." she said.

"Fine, fine, Pond. Whatever you need." He smiled and leaned back on his elbows, peering up into the darkening sky.

Finally the show started, and even the Doctor had to admit that the sight of a firework coming down from far up in the sky and exploding overhead was both beautiful and utterly alarming. The crowd around them ooohed, aaahed, and ducked appreciatively.

Amy, dressed as always in the shortest allowable skirt, shivered as a cool breeze picked up. She burrowed in closer to the Doctor, her head nuzzled into his shoulder.

"Here," he said, shrugging off his tweed jacket. "Wear this."

Amy snuggled into it happily, breathing in the jacket's inimitably great smell - tweed and cloves and a tiny bit of something akin to motor oil and something she couldn't identify at all. Space? Does space have a smell? Anyways, it was a happy smell and she was hit with a wave of contentment. She crammed her hands deep into its pockets, and then leapt to her feet with a shriek.

"What?" the Doctor cried, hopping to his feet with sonic in hand and glancing around them in a wide circle. "What happened?"

"Something bit me! In your pocket!"

"Shhhh!" said a voice from behind them. "Get down! You're ruining the view!"

The Doctor pulled Amy back down to the rock face. "Amy, quiet down," he murmured in a low voice. "You're going to start a riot. I absolutely promise you that nothing in my pocket is capable of biting you."

Amy leaned over and poked him in the chest. "I know a bite when I feel one, Mister. What have you got in there, a gerbil?"

The Doctor pointedly ignored her and stared up at the sky. "Watch the show, Amy."

"You do! You do have some kind of rodent in there!"

He turned and gazed at her steadily. "Can we just put a pin in this for now? Please hush up." He kept eye contact with her for a few moments to make sure she heard him. Finally she flopped down beside him (this time with her hands nowhere near the jacket) and tried to enjoy the show. Which wasn't easy thinking about what might be climbing around inside her borrowed coat.

2.

"Ok, Doctor," Amy said a few hours later as they unlocked the door of the TARDIS and stumbled in. "Spill it."

He blinked at her innocently. "Spill what?"

"What," she said menacingly, "is living in your coat?"

"Amy, Amy, Amy..." he put on his best persecuted look. "Nothing."

"So you won't mind if I have a look then?"

"Be my guest! Well you already are my guest," he said, stopping to consider that for a moment. "That doesn't make any sense, really. But help yourself! Mi jacket es su jacket, as they say," the Doctor called as he disappeared into the library.

Undeterred, Amy plopped down cross-legged on the console room floor and tentatively reached into the pocket on the left. At first the usual things one might expect - well the usual things for a Time Lord, maybe - came out.

Two older, nonfunctioning models of the sonic screw driver.

A jammy dodger or two.

Bubble gum.

Kitchen twine.

Safety scissors.

Batteries. Lots of batteries.

The Doctor wandered out to see how she was doing. "I'm going to start a movie, do you want to join me?" he called.

"Nope," Amy called, "This is way too interesting."

Amy found herself feeling bolder as nothing with teeth emerged and started digging more forcefully.

An umbrella.

A Darth Vader pez dispenser.

One of those weird frisbee things from Tron.

A vial full of sparkling bead-like pollen.

Fourteen handkerchiefs.

Four extra red bow ties.

Clown shoes and a nose.

A small green book entitled "Poisons and You! How to Avoid Them."

A collapsible digging shovel.

"This is getting ridiculous," Amy muttered. "I haven't even gotten to the second pocket yet."

A small bicycle, possibly sized for a monkey.

Three large, interlocking hoops.

One half of the kind of box a magician saws through, with no lady inside.

Something that looked a lot like a mandolin.

A VHS exercise tape.

Allen wrenches of all shapes and sizes, stuck together with a rubber band.

An inflatable bath toy.

Crayons.

Silver polish.

Eleven golf balls, bright yellow.

Two hours later the Doctor returned to find Amy centered in a small clearing surrounded by the most bewildering pile of things.

"Are you still at this?" he asked. "Honestly, Pond. Go to bed."

"I hardly need to," she joked. "I'm sure I'll find a blanket and a pillow in here eventually."

"Yes, well, this is all well and good fun, but I'm afraid I simply have to put an end to this science project of yours," the Doctor replied primly. "You're messing up my filing system quite badly. Organization is important."

Amy blinked up at him for a beat or two.

"You have an organization system for this?"

"Of course! How else do you think one could manage infinite pockets? Everything is alphabetized and sorted into it's own quantum container. Cross indexed and referenced in the central computer and in the sonic." He flopped down on the jump seat. "And that is why I always know where something is when I need it."

"Except for the correct date and time," Amy pointed out.

"Ah! Ah ha." He agreed. "Yes, well, there's no way to store that in a pocket."

Amy rolled her eyes as she stood up, surveying the mess she'd made. She gently picked up the coat with a thumb and forefinger, still a little wary of it, and handed it back to the Doctor. "Here. I give up."

"So you admit you were wrong about wild beasts living in there?" he asked.

"I admit no such thing. But if there is, god knows you would have it indexed under some planet I can't even spell, cross referenced by it's DNA code." She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Well, good night!"

"Hey!" he called after her rapidly retreating form. "Hey! What about all of this mess?"

Amy gave a quick little wave and blew a kiss as she disappeared down the corridor. Undoubtedly to take a bath or some such nonsense, he thought. Humans and their baths.

He took a moment to survey all of the things in the pile on the floor before picking it up and stuffing it back into the larger of his coat pockets. Indexing system? Cross referencing? As if. It wasn't a complete lie, he had always intended to install that kind of system. Instead he preferred to just reach in wildly and let fate or the universe provide whatever it thought he needed. It had always worked so far.

Except for the rodent, of course. Some mischievous child had once shoved a small animal in his coat, several years ago, and he had never once been able to locate it. There was almost no chance it was still alive, was there? Surely it couldn't have found a food source and somehow survived for two years without ever letting him know it was there? Surely it couldn't have reproduced?

He stopped and pondered it for a moment.

Naaaaaaah, not possible.

Still, he made a mental note to mix a small dose of antibiotics into Amy's morning tea tomorrow. Just in case she really did get a bite.

Better safe than sorry.


	3. Rule 26 - No Pets

The Doctor pocketed his sonic screwdriver and wiped his hands contentedly on his pant legs. "Ok, then, that's a wrap. Villagers saved, slug beast safely transported home, and we are off to New Florida for a holiday!"

He spun around and was stopped short by the sight of Amy, holding a tiny furry critter in her cupped hands. Its fur was a moss green, its long tail was ringed with bands of yellow, and its large, adorable eyes were trained on him enticingly. As were Amy's.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" He ran a hand through his hair and tried to compose himself in face of this unexpected onslaught. "No animals on the TARDIS. Rule 26. I do not do pets."

"Oh but doctor… just look at this little face. He's so cute!" Amy held up the lemur-like creature and it complied by blinking adorably. Then it clambered up her arm and settled in on her shoulder, pulling her orange hair around it like a blanket. It started to emit a sound that was enticingly like purring.

"That… that THING is a wild levorian and it is not a pet!" He whipped out his sonic and checked it over, just to be sure that it was, in fact, what it appeared to be and not some kind of hidden danger to them both. One can never be too sure with levorians.

"It's all of five inches tall and its mother just died!" Amy protested. "How can we just leave it here?"

"Amy," he said slowly and calmly. "You have to put it down now. It's imprinting on you. We can't have a levorian on the ship. Do you know how big that thing is going to get? Way bigger than your average gorilla. It eats over 20 pounds in bananas per day when it's full grown."

"Ah HA!" she cried. "You just don't want to share your bananas!"

"No," he said, "I don't."

Amy pouted. Normally this would work like a charm but he held firm this time.

"Twenty pounds. Per day." He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully at her, all indignant with that ridiculous green animal clinging to her sweatshirt. Humans and their soft, sentimental hearts. "How much poop do you think that creates? And who exactly do you think is going to clean it up?"

Amy recoiled slightly, set the baby levorian down like it was made of toxic sludge. "Ok, fine, boss man." She leaned down and patted it on the head. "You win."

"Besides, it probably has relatives around here somewhere. These things move in tribes." A banana suddenly came shooting out of the underbrush at them, landing roughly on the Doctor's left boot and leaving a smear. "That's probably one of them now. Let's go before they decide to really warn us off."


	4. Rule 35 - Always Leave Them Guessing

1\.   
They were walking down the sidewalk of New Earth, New New York. No one really walked anywhere these days, but the Doctor thought it was nostalgic to do so. Oddly enough, despite the lack of pedestrians, New New York still had sidewalk buskers. Musicians, fortune tellers, even the odd con man running card tricks and cup and ball games.

"Ooo!" Amy said, grabbing his hand and pulling him over. "Look, Doctor! Card tricks!"

The Doctor harumphed, but he allowed himself to be led.

"Welcome, mates!" the busker cried. "Care to place a bet? Win some credit for the lovely lady? Just tell me what cup the ball is under and you've got yourself a windfall." His hands moved quickly, almost a blur, but of course they were not too fast for time lord senses.

The Doctor watched in silence for a minute, a predatory gleam in his eye. "It's not under any of them. You nicked it off the table when I made eye contact with you and it's now currently in - " he stopped and sniffed the air, "in the cuff of your left pantleg. Which seems to have curry on it, by the way. Love a good curry. Also, you have an 8 of hearts in your sleeve, a couple of magnets disguised as rings, and - is that a dagger?" The Doctor stuck out his tongue and gave every impression of tasting the air. "Yes, you've definitely got a dagger strapped to your lower left leg. Really, I'd think you would take more care."

The busker stared at him, dumbfounded, and then bent down to pull out said dagger.

"Run!" the Doctor shouted, grabbing Amy's hand, a wild grin on his face.   
2\.   
"Was that utterly necessary?" Amy complained, panting, a few blocks later.

"Well the alternative might have been fending off a knife fight," the Doctor informed her.

She elbowed him. "No, not the running. The goading of the poor street performer. I could hardly blame him for going a little mental."

"Oh pshaw," he said. "He was a second rate hack. I'm much, much better."

"At card tricks?"

"At everything."

She grinned at him. "Well how about you prove that?"

"Fine, yes, whatever Pond," he said airily. "Anytime."

 

3.  
The next morning, Amy wandered into the kitchen to find the Doctor cheerily making tea and toast.

"Ok, big shot, yer on," she announced, slapping a deck of cards down on the table. "Dazzle me."

He eyed her as if she had just sprouted a third head. "Excuse me?"

"Card tricks!" she smiled. "You promised. Show me your superior talent."

"Now? Seriously?" he indicated his half eaten toast reluctantly.

"No time like the present!"

"Ok, fine." The Doctor grabbed the cards and started to shuffle them. "I'll have you know, I studied with Harry Blackstone for a while, you know. Back in the 1930s."

"Who?"

"Oh, Pond," he sighed. "You have no culture."

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "The 1930s were a long time ago. Now show me a trick."

Amy had to admit that his hands were fast. The cards veritably flew in his nimble fingers as he shuffled them back and forth. Finally he extended a pile to her.

"Pick one!"

She did. Nine of clubs. She slid it back into the middle of the deck.

He vamped. He made meaningful faces. He tapped the deck, leaned down and laid an ear close to the cards as if listening. And then, with a flourish, he pulled out ... the four of spades.

"Is this your card, Amelia Pond?"

She chortled. "Uh, no."

He looked up at her, startled. "Yes it is!"

"Uh, no it is not."

"It is!" he said, increasingly flustered.

"You're the Time Lord," she smirked. "Go back fifteen seconds in time and check for yourself."

"Ok, ok, just a second." He pulled another one out with a flourish. "Is THIS your card?" Jack of diamonds.

"Uh, no."

Amy patted his shoulder and walked out. "It's ok, it's just not your thing." She smothered a laugh as she headed down the hall. No point in pushing it too far.

 

4\.   
Amy thought that might be the end of it, but over the next few days, she kept finding him at unexpected moments huddled over the cards, muttering, moving things from hand to hand, practicing feverishly. She even thought that she saw him holding a wand once, although he quickly spirited it away when she approached. Amy studiously pretended not to see him, loving that he was so obsessed and needing to impress her. As if magic tricks were the key to her heart.

Finally four days later, the Doctor appeared triumphantly in her bedroom. At three a.m.

"Amy! AmyAmyAmy!" He was literally bouncing on her bed. "Amy, wake up!"

"Oi! Do you know what time it is?" Amy moaned, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh, c'mon Pond, get up! I have something really important to tell you!"

Amy sat up, pulling the covers up around her neck, suddenly unnerved. Had they crashed? Was he regenerating? Was there someone chasing them?

"What? What?" she insisted. "Tell me!"

He paused for a moment, his face unreadable, and then with considerable fanfare he pulled out from behind his back - the nine of clubs.

"Amy Pond," he intoned solemnly, "Is this your card?"

She stared at him quietly. "Well I'll be," she finally drawled. "And it only took you four days! How DO you do it?"

He chose to ignore the sarcasm. "I'll never tell," he said. "Rule 35 - always leave them guessing."

He had no idea why she hit him with the pillow. Humans were so unpredictable.


	5. Rule 301: Don't Eat the Soup Beast, It's Not Polite

After a long, hard day mediating a coup among the sentient amethysts of Damolloc Prime, the Doctor and Amy visited a restaurant on the planet Shan Shen, just for a change of pace.

"This is the top rated noodle house in this sector of the galaxy, Pond," the Doctor said, grinning. "Oh, you are in for a treat! No one does noodles like the Shan Shen."

Amy smiled back. They really had been eating more than their share of curries lately. Something a little different sounded great to her, especially on a planet that was somewhat based on Chinese culture. However, the menus, when they came, were covered in blue dots and scratchy things that made no sense to her at all.

"Doctor, can you read this?" she asked quietly.

"Of course I can, Pond. I can read everything." He peered more closely at it and gestured at one long section to the left. "This column over here is all your basic noodle bowls with a variety of local delicacies in it. Lots of them are what you would consider meat. Just point at will."

Amy glanced over to where his finger was. "What about the next column over?"

"Those are for more adventurous eaters," he said dismissively. "Don't bother."

Amy huffed. "Oh really. So I'm not adventurous enough to eat any of that?"

The Doctor smirked at her. "Amelia. Some of the dishes in that column involve living insects that bring on a hallucinatory experience. Others have been fermented in what can most closely be described as a form of yak spit for over 900 years. And then the next column down —"

"Ok, ok," she cried. "Enough. I'll stick to column one." And when the server came, she smiled politely and obediently pointed to something halfway down column one. The server complimented her on her good taste, gathered the menus, and scurried away.

Unbelievably quickly, steaming hot bowls were brought out to them. The Doctor's was small and reasonable and seemed to involve a large amount of vegetables. Amy's was large, completely opaque, and an odd shade of brown.

"Uh… Doctor? What is this?" She poked at the surface nervously. A few bubbles escaped from somewhere below.

"It's what you ordered, Pond," he smirked. "Don't insult the locals by acting like it might bite you."

Amy steeled herself. "Ok, fine." She took a small sip. "Hrm. Not bad. It's kind of like a mix of beefy and … some kind of melon?" She swallowed again, took a small nibble of something solid. "I can do this."

The Doctor, meanwhile, slurped away noisily, head down into his bowl on the table as was, he informed her, the local custom. Amy couldn't help giggling even if it was — it was like eating with a room full of puppies. Plus she was pretty sure his bowtie was getting wet.

Amy poked around with her spoon, local custom be damned. She was going to eat like a civilized person. She fished around for a noodle and came up with something she thought must qualify for the description. She was in the process of winding it around her spoon for eating when suddenly it catapulted itself back into her bowl, all under its own power.

Amy let out a shriek and backed up in her chair.

The Doctor looked up, perturbed. "Amelia," he scolded. "Stop making a scene! What is wrong?"

"Ok, bub, just watch." She tentatively reached out to dig for another noodle and started pulling it out of the bowl, only to have the same thing happen - the noodle retracted below the surface as if something was pulling it back down.

The Doctor blinked. He pulled out his sonic and aimed it at the bowl, as discreetly as possible, then checked out the readings beneath his napkin.

"Amy," he said quietly, "Don't panic, but I think perhaps your noodles are, well, alive."

This was too much. Amy was up and out of her chair like a gunshot, the chair clattering backwards into another patron, and suddenly all eyes in the restaurant were on the orange-haired girl and her companion who were making such a fuss.

"I took a bite of that!" she shouted, shaking a finger at the Doctor. "You're telling me I just ate something that was alive? I thought you could read the menu!"

"Well it's not like it's sentient," the Doctor observed rationally. "It's just a soup beast. They're really just there for seasoning. Most people know not to actually eat them."

Amy balled up her napkin and threw it at him before storming out of the restaurant. "Oh, and by the way," she called back to him, "your bow tie is dripping broth all over your shirt." The last sight she caught of him was the stricken look on his face as he tried to dab off his beloved bow tie with his napkin, with a waiter hovering nearby.

She pulled her TARDIS key out of her shirt and headed back to the ship to rummage through the kitchen. Mental note, she thought, don't eat the sentient life forms. If it wasn't a rule, it should be.


	6. Rule 272: No Sontaran Babysitters

"I don't think this is a good idea, Doctor," Clara said doubtfully as she and the Doctor closed the door of the Maitland's house behind them.

"You worry too much," he replied. "And Strax is very responsible. I'm sure Artie and Angie will be just fine with him. And honestly, it was either him or an Ood."

Clara gave him a look.

"I know! But it's hard to find a babysitter on such short notice," the Doctor said. "Now come on, we're running late."

Clara took the hand offered her and headed out, but a part of the back of her mind fretted. They had willingly left a potato-headed, dim-witted Sontaran nurse babysitting her young charges. Would this backfire? Would Artie and Angie run roughshod over him? Would he lack any tolerance for their shenanigans? She couldn't decide which of them was most likely to be tied up at the end of the evening.

When the concert ended, she all but leaped to her feet. The Doctor, although used to her wild extremes of energy, blinked up at her.

"Well!" she said crisply. "That was lovely! Thanks so much for bringing me! All right, off we go." And she grabbed his hand yet again and all but dragged him back towards the Maitlands, leaving the Doctor shaking his head confusedly in her wake.

They entered the house to be met with deathly silence.

"What is the meaning of these pitiful earth weapons?" Strax demanded, emerging from the living room brandishing several foam darts meaningfully. "They bend! They soften on impact! How are your young supposed to learn how to inflict the most damaging and painful wounds on their enemies?"

Clara eyed him warily. "They're foam darts. They're supposed to bend."

"And? Who bought these? I must see him and make a complaint at once."

"They're not supposed to inflict harm," Clara said slowly. "They're for fun."

Strax looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"Strax," Clara said, "where are the kids?"

He straightened up proudly. "They are in the backyard sharpening sticks to be used in combat training. At least if they've finished piling up the grenades I provided." He noted their frowns. "Don't worry, they're only stun grenades."

Clara turned and poked the Doctor, who was trying to back away quietly, square in the chest. "Rule!" she cried. "Sontarans are not allowed to babysit!"

"Quite right," he said, then headed off to the backyard at a run.


	7. Rule 31 - No Open Flames

Amy and Rory were lounging on the stairs in the console room late one evening, enjoying their tea, when the Doctor came rushing in from outside the TARDIS as if a pack of demons was after them. His hair was mussed and his jacket appeared to be singed. Small puffs of smoke trailed from the left sleeve. Most shockingly, his bowtie was ash colored and hanging in strips.

"Doctor, what happened?" Amy cried, jumping to her feet.

"Nothing," he said tersely, straightening himself out and patting out a small fire that was burning on one cuff.

Amy narrowed her eyes. "Doctor, there's lipstick on your cheek, and parts of you appear to be on fire."

He turned and pointed at them both. "Well she's your daughter," he said defensively, scrubbing at his face. "I blame you two. Completely uncivilized, that one."

And with that he stalked away, muttering something about a fire extinguisher. Amy and Rory eyed each other in confusion.

"We," Amy said, "are going to need to hear more about this one."

"Oh I really hope not," Rory replied.

Ten minutes later, River burst in, still adjusting buttons on the vortex manipulator strapped to her wrist as she materialized in the center of the console room.

"Where is he?" she barked. "The Doctor, is he here?"

Amy blinked a few times, trying to catch up. "Why yes, he is, Melody," she said slowly and pointedly. "He appeared to be just slightly aflame."

River grinned. "Oh goodness. I'm going to have a world of a time explaining my way out of this one." She stopped to fluff her hair and leaned in to examine her reflection in the monitor, tugging her top downward slightly to better show her cleavage. "How do I look?" she asked, turning to them with a wide smile.

"You look fine," Rory said. "Now what's going on?"

"Oh, Mom, Dad," she said, smirking cheekily. "You know. Marital stuff! Trust me, you wouldn't want to know the details."

Rory rolled his eyes and went off in search of more tea.

"So sweetie, you see, I didn't know that the lotion was flammable, or that your coat was too near the flame," River said. "In fact if you taken it off like I asked you to at the beginning of the evening, none of this would have happened at all!"

"Oh, no!" the Doctor cried, looking fierce. "You don't get out of this one so easily. You. Set. My. Bowtie. On. Fire." He scowled intensely, struck by a new thought. "Did Amy put you up to this?"

River pouted prettily and took a slow step towards him. "Do you really think I turn to Amy for advice on the little games we like to play together, Sweetie?"

The Doctor looked flustered. "Well no. I mean I hope not! Heaven forbid."

River smiled at him from beneath her lashes as she sauntered across the bedroom. "Besides," she purred, "I don't really need any advice in that arena, do I?" She fingered his top button, flickered a little kiss near his ear. "Forgive me?" she breathed.

The Doctor groaned, but it was half hearted at best. Of course he did. What else could one do when one was married to the magnificent River Song?

"You know I do, you bad girl," he said. "But new rule. No open flames near the bowtie."

"Mmmm hmmm," she replied distractedly, unbuttoning one by one, her fingers maddening.

"River!" he said as sharply as he could manage. "Are you listening?"

"Yes, Sweetie," she said. "No open flames. No worries." She grinned up at him. "We won't need any."


	8. Rule 201: Always Call Ahead

It started innocently enough.

"Where to today, Rose?" the Doctor asked, finishing up his tea and plopping the cup back down on the counter with a bang. "You name it, off we go."

Rose thought for a minute.

"New Galactia? Space China? Piscorin? Amaphalaxid?" he literally was hopping from foot to foot with his own singular mix of impatience and enthusiasm.

"I know!" Rose shouted. "It's Jack's birthday in a couple days. Let's go see him."

The Doctor literally deflated. "Well, yes, that's all fine and good, Rose, but really? All of time and space and you want to go see Jack? On Earth?"

Rose grinned and made big eyes at him. "Please?"

The Doctor turned away, making a show of washing up his cup to try to avoid her imploring look. Really, this wasn't fair at all. Rose knew he couldn't withstand the puppy dog eyes for more than a few minutes.

"Please please?" she said, sidling up beside him and bumping elbows gently. "It'll be fun!"

He sighed, giving in to the inevitable. "Fine. Earth it is. But just for a short visit. And then we're off to see the singing sands of Kafalonia Falls."

Rose clapped excitedly. "Oh good! And hey, we can surprise him. Just drop in with a banner and some noise makers and maybe a cake or something." Seeing the Doctor's dubious expression she downgraded a bit. "Or just party hats. That's festive."

The Doctor pushed his hair out of his eyes. "This is not how I pictured my day," he grumped.

 

They landed the TARDIS in Jack's living room, and as always the Doctor led the way out the door, a ridiculous party hat on his head and a noisemaker in his hand. He even seemed to be getting into the spirit of the thing, approaching it with a reserve of good humor that Rose didn't dare point out in case it suddenly evaporated.

Rose was tight on The Doctor's heels when he came to an abrupt halt, yelled a garbled curse, and literally threw them both into the TARDIS, slamming the doors behind him.

"Mission aborted!" the Doctor groaned. "My eyes!"

"What is it?" Rose asked worriedly. She hadn't seen anything; her view had been entirely blocked by the Doctor's coat. "Is Jack okay? Is someone hurt?"

The Doctor scrubbed at his face with his hands. "Jack is... Jack is just fine. He's just busy."

"What do you - "

She was interrupted by a buoyant knock at the door. Rose stepped around the Doctor to open the door, to find a shirtless, pantsless Jack Harkness greeting her, a blindingly white towel tied around his waist that was rivaled only by his sparkling grin. He wrapped Rose in a huge hug. "Rosie! Doctor!" He winked. "If you wanted to see me naked, Doctor, all you had to do was ask."

Rose snorted "Ah! So that's what happened!" She gestured to the Doctor. "All this one could say was 'Oh my eyes!'"

Jack burst out laughing. "Well, anyways, the more the merrier. Would you like to come in?"

"Sure -" Rose began.

"No!" the Doctor cut in. "No, thank you. We'll be at the pub around the corner when you've finished with... with whatever was going on in there." He grabbed Jack's arm and steered him out the front door. "And put on some trousers!"

"That was rude," Rose said under her breath as he hurriedly pumped the rotor and took off, repositioning them on the sidewalk outside the apartment building.

"Yes, well, seeing Jack in the all together with three ... I'm not all together sure what they were. At least one of them was green. I think one might have been a Vinvocci. You know, the spiky cacti-looking ones?" The Doctor shuddered."No offense to the Vinvocci. Fine creatures. However, seeing them engaged in foreplay in Jack's living room is ... well, let's just say I wouldn't mind boiling my eyes for a while."

Rose laughed, and took his hand, pulling him down the street towards the pub and steering them to a table in the window where they could watch the street for Jack's approach.

"Let me buy you a pint, Doctor."

He nodded gratefully. "New rule. Always call ahead when visiting Jack."

Rose nodded seriously.

"Really, Rose. Drop in visits are rubbish."

"Yes, fine, got it." she replied distractedly, taking a big gulp of her ale. "Now, Doctor, tell me about these Vinvocci you saw. What was happening? How are they ... uh... compatible with humans?"

The Doctor dropped his head on the table with an audible thunk. "Rose Tyler, this whole day just cannot be happening."

Rose grinned. "Doctor, you know Jack will tell me anyways, and in a great deal more detail than you want to hear. So you might as well satisfy my curiosity."

The Doctor sat back up and grabbed a napkin and a pen.

"Ok," he said. "But listen carefully. I'm only going to go over this once."


	9. Rule 202: Someone remember where we parked

The first time was understandable. They were in London in 1956, looking into a series of disappearances at local orphanages that led, in turn, to a brilliant chase across most of London, an exploding drone ship, and a hastily-rigged-together teleportation device that returned the children home.

After all of this, the Doctor and Rose laid on the grass in St. James Park, catching their breath. The Doctor packed his sonic away looking highly satisfied, brushed the dust off of his shoulders, and turned to grin triumphantly at Rose.

"So," he said, "where did we leave the TARDIS?"

Rose looked blankly at him. "I dunno! I thought you knew."

He huffed. "Well, I was busy saving the planet, you know. The least you could do is keep track of little things like where we left our ride."

Rose made a face and took his arm. "Best start retracing our steps."

To be fair, there were over 600 blue police boxes in London in the fifties.

They checked over 83 of them.

Rose kept a careful count. 

The second time, they were guests on a space liner where the new symphonic work of an important 43rd century composer was being premiered. It was quite a large ship, with stringent parking policies. The Doctor and Rose had barely stepped out into reception when a strange-looking valet appeared, hand out for the keys.

The Doctor peered over his glasses at the odd creature in front of him. Its skin was papery and gray, its demeanor officious. Wide black eyes, no nose to speak of, and its suit jacket was ill-fitting at best.

"No," the Doctor said firmly, "I am not turning over my ship to you."

"Apologies, valued guest," the creature said, its tone obsequious but firm. "No time travel devices are allowed on the hospitality decks. If you will not allow us to drive your machine we can move it for you with our hover-lift to a more suitable parking location."

As if by silent signal, a robotic arm appeared. It plucked the TARDIS off the deck, deposited it in a large elevator, and whirred it out of sight all before the Doctor had so much as drawn a breath to continue arguing.

"Now see here!" the Doctor began, only to be interrupted by the creature whipping out a small round chip and handing it to him.

"Your parking retrieval location," it chirped, and off it went. The Doctor considered making a fuss, but quickly decided it was best to let it go. Their hosts were honorable and known to him, and he was certain no one could harm or even enter the TARDIS while it was away from him. He offered his arm to Rose, and escorted her into the concert hall. 

Two long hours later, after hearing a baffling cacophony of what could most easily be compared to the mating songs of Lithuanian crickets combined with an earthquake, they stumbled out of their seats and headed for the lobby.

“You were sleeping, Rose,” the Doctor whispered.

“Doctor!” she reprimanded. “Was not.”

He eyed her meaningfully.

“Ok, maybe a bit.” She grinned. “Crickets always put me to sleep.”

“Crickets?”

She shrugged. “Sounded like crickets to me.”

He patted his pockets as they headed off to the valet stand to retrieve the ship. And patted. And patted.

Rose eyed him warily. “What’s wrong?”

“We-e-e-ell,” he said, “I seem to have misplaced the chip to claim the TARDIS.”

“What? Look again.”

He did. He continued to dig through various pockets — breast pocket, both outside pockets, inner pockets, even his pants. He looked through his socks. He even checked a pocket Rose hadn’t known he had on the back of his tie.

“Well,” he sniffed, “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

It was late the next morning before they finished the paperwork, submitted in triplicate, and had their fingerprints processed, retinal scans completed and verified by experts, auras read, astrological charts cast, and hair follicles analyzed for remnants of illegal substances.

Rose had long since given up hope of ever seeing the TARDIS again, when they finally wheeled her out and deposited her on the pavement in front of them.

“Thank you for parking with Atransi Enterprises,” the small gray valet said warmly. 

“You know, technically that wasn’t my fault,” the Doctor told her later.

Rose smothered a laugh.

"Well it wasn't!" he repeated indignantly.

"No, you're right," Rose said, nodding emphatically. "The little gray guys were being ridiculous.”

Somewhat mollified, the Doctor smoothed down his lapels, pulled out an apple, and took a bite.

"After all," she continued, "How could they expect you to hang on to one little valet ticket? Even the Doctor has his limits."

She ducked before the apple he threw hit her. 

 

"There's a Mall Planet?" Rose asked, incredulously.

The Doctor grinned at her from behind the screen. "Oh, yes. Grandest shopping in the galaxy. Organized into cities simply by the type of merchandise one prefers. You can go to whole towns focused on hats, books, men's clothing, woman's clothing, toys, electronics, shoes, garden utensils, foodstuffs of various kinds..."

Rose had to cut in. "Shoes?"

"Ah, yes, of course." He twiddled a few knobs. "So that's where we should start, then?"

"Yes please!"

The door swung open onto an enormous parking structure. In all directions were endless cars, ships, and vessels. A variety of illuminated signs and flashing lights in the pavement directed shoppers to various portals from which they could hop directly to the main entrance. Temporary tattoo machines were available to transcribe your parking location onto your palm for convenience.

Neither the Doctor nor Rose noticed this option. Instead, they took a moment to memorize their location -- A412'B*596-1X.

“This is just parking, Rose,” the Doctor chided with a grin. “Stop looking all wide eyed and awestruck until you see the city.”

Inside was indeed a wonder. Rose had never imagined anything like it. Thousands of stores, all dedicated to footwear, organized in concentric circles on 200 floors. Automated kiosks helped shoppers identify an appropriate starting point by species, foot size, and style and whisked one directly there.

An hour later, the Doctor was tearing his hair out. Sixty minutes of watching Rose look at shoes, touch shoes, try on shoes. So. Many. Shoes. This was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. What could he have been thinking?

To her credit, Rose noticed his increasing discomfort.

"You don't have to follow me around all morning, Doctor," she said kindly. "Is there somewhere else you want to go for a while? We can meet up soon."

He looked dubious. "Well... maybe. I'd like to head off to the electronics conglomerate. It's astonishing, a floating city in the midst of this world's largest ocean. But it's a long way and it could be hard to find you here."

Rose shook her head. Sometimes he simply didn’t think straight. She put it down to the shoe shopping. "Leave the sonic with me, or one of your tracker thingies, silly,” she said with a smile. “Pop off in the TARDIS and you can come right to me when you're done."

He all but bounced on his toes. "Perfect, Rose! You're brilliant." He hugged her and popped the sonic into her back pocket. "See you in a bit."

And in a flash, he was gone. 

 

After what seemed like only an hour or two, he was back, looking quite disheveled.

"Doctor!" Rose said, surprised. "I didn't hear the TARDIS land."

"About that..." he said, obviously trying to sound nonchalant. "Do you by any chance happen to recall the parking number?"

Rose grinned, earning her a stern look. She wiped the smirk from her face and thought for a minute. "Um, I think it was AB412... something. Definitely started with A. Oh, and it had a prime in it. And an asterisk."

His face fell.

"No, no, no, that doesn't help at all." He paced. "All that tells us is that it's on one of the A levels. There are hundreds of A levels. There were fourteen characters to the parking code, Rose! Do you know how many possible parking spaces that is?"

Rose winced. "Could we possibly work back from the portal where we came in?"

He stared at her. This was a very good suggestion. Why hadn’t he come up with it? Each quadrant of each floor of the parking structure teleported guests to a particular entry point in the shopping city. Reversing the process should take them back very close to the ship, no?

“Let’s try it.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards the entrance.

They hopped aboard a promising-looking parking portal and were instantly transported to a completely unfamiliar looking area. The Doctor ran around looking for a good half mile, tasted the air, spun in a slow circle with the sonic whirring, even attempted to climb something for a better view. Finally he just collapsed onto the ground, sitting with his long legs out in front of him and his back against a wall, his long brown coat splayed out around him.

He looked completely and utterly deflated.

“Rose, you don’t understand,” he moaned. “I’ve already been looking for hours! This is hopeless. We’re going to have to go to the management. We’re going to have to --” he shuddered “–fill out forms.”

Rose carefully sat herself down next to him, leaned up against his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t the TARDIS be able to tell you where she is?” she asked. “Telepathic bond and all that.”

He frowned. “Normally, yes. I can tell she’s here but not where she is. I think she’s blocking me.”

“Why would she do that?”

He looked faintly embarrassed. “I may have crossed a few wires this morning and then spoken crossly to her when she sparked me.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs. “Could be her idea of, uh, revenge. Or maybe just a good joke.”

Rose took a moment to absorb that one. Certainly not a problem one had with a non-sentient ship, this.

"Well," she said lightly, "Nothing for it but to keep looking, then."

"Mmm."

"I mean it can't be all that far, right? We're in the A4s." She kept her tone cheerful.

"Hmm."

"Next time we come somewhere like this, I'm taking a picture of the parking code on my phone."

No response. Rose wracked her brain for a more helpful suggestion.

"Can’t you use the sonic,” she finally asked, “to do something clever?"

He perked up a little at that. "We-e-e-ell, I could probably modify it to send out a homing beacon. It won't take us right to the ship but it'll beep if we're getting close. We won’t have to go down every row."

He bent over and fiddled with it for a few minutes, hair flopping into his eyes. Finally, he hopped to his feet and clicked it open, pressed a few buttons, and sent a small beam of green light searching around the parking lot.

"This way!" he announced.

Off they trudged. Every few rows the Doctor held the sonic up, clicked some buttons, and shot a light beam. No response so far.

Rose found herself grinning broadly.

"What's funny?" he asked, his tone genuinely puzzled.

"It's -- " she tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. "It's just that we're wandering around in a parking lot, trying to make the TARDIS beep. It's what blokes on Earth do every day of the week at the local shopping centers. Clicking their key fobs until they hear that beepboop and getting madder and madder."

He frowned at her, his feathers clearly ruffled. "I am not a bloke."

"No, no you're not." But she couldn't hold in a cascade of giggles as he pressed the button again.

"Stop laughing, Rose," he warned.

"Ah!" she actually had to wipe her eyes, laughing helplessly. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I just... I never expected that running through the stars with you would come down to a scene like this. It’s just like hanging out with Mickey at the stadium after a match.”

He gaped at her for a minute or two. “Mickey? This is just like hanging out with Mickey?! Why Rose Tyler, I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Time Lord, spaceship — “ he paused for a dignified breath and indicated around him with a sweep of his arms. “shopping planet, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” she said quickly, giving him her best conciliatory smile. “Besides, Mickey would be swearing a whole lot more than you are.”

“It’s swear words you want?” he grinned nastily and proceeded to mutter a string of impressive profanities in what she could only assume was Gallifreyan.

He strode ahead to the end of their current row, raised his arm overhead, and clicked the sonic dramatically.

Beepboop!

“There, see?” he shouted triumphantly, indicating the TARDIS on the next row over. “Saved by the sonic, yet again.”

Rose grinned back, tongue between her teeth. “Nicely done, Doctor. I never doubted you.”

He huffed. “Yes you did. And by the way - new rule. For Rassillon’s sake, someone please start paying attention to where we parked.”


	10. Rule 287 - Donna Doesn't Do Rules, Spaceman

It all started when he walked into the kitchen on the TARDIS and found Donna eating one of his stash of bananas.

"Hey!" he said, taken aback. "Get your own! Those are mine."

Donna eyed him critically. "Uh, no," she said, peeling the lower half of it.

"Hey, hey! Now come on. It's a rule. Bananas are just for the Doctor."

"I'll grant you that you're bananas," she said, taking a big bite.

"Oh, that's just rude!" he hissed. Then he drew himself up to look strict. "My ship, my rules."

"Oi!" Donna said, bristling. "I don't know what you've been telling these kids you travel with, but you are not setting random rules for me, Spaceman."

"Donna," he said, clearly trying to be patient. "Please, just do as I say. It's really for the best, all things considered. I'm right, statistically, at least 98% of the time. Really, there's been a study. We-e-e-ll, I say study, but..."

Enough, Donna thought. "Is this necessary for my safety?"

He looked puzzled. "No."

"Is it necessary for your safety?"

He sighed. "No, but really Donna, I think you're deliberately obfuscating here, missing the point entirely -"

"Is it going to cause life altering consequences if I don't do this?"

"Well… you never know, a butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil and suddenly…"

"Oh stuff it. Answer the question. Will it alter your life if I eat a banana?" She grinned. "Will things go all pear shaped? Will it be ... timey wimey?"

"No," he mumbled, scuffing one of his chucks on the grating and sensing defeat.

"Ha!" Donna announced. "So you can take your rule and you can stick it where the sun doesn't shine."

He looked physically pained as she finished the third to the last banana. 

He sat her down later that evening, after they met the Denovian ambassador and helped work out a treaty between two warring races of sentient amoebas, after the running and the incident where a few of the amoebas tried to tag along onto the TARDIS in a drop of water on Donna's shoe, which had to be burned - burned! - to try to talk sensibly about this whole rule business.

"Now, Donna," he said slowly, "listen. You're my best mate, and I love having you on board, but it's just the two of us in tight quarters and there are certain courtesies we have to afford each other to make living together like this easier. We have to be thoughtful of each other and - "

"You burned my shoes," she pointed out unhelpfully. "I loved those shoes."

"Yes, well, couldn't be helped. If the Denovians had made it into our water supply..." he shuddered. "And I told you to be careful about stepping in puddles, really, so you can't blame me for that one."

"I can, actually," she interjected.

"As I was saying," he sniffed, adjusting his glasses. "Previous companions and I found that a series of rules - we-e-ell, not so much rules, really as guidelines, or perhaps protocols - yes, I think guidelines is the best word - we found that a set of guidelines were essential in easing tensions and preventing conflicts from occurring..."

Donna leaned forward, hands on the console. "So spit it out, what are you trying to say?"

He pulled out a small, battered blue notebook. "Rules. For companions."

Donna snorted. "You have a book?"

"I like to be organized. Well, sometimes. Well, I try."

"Read me one," she said.

"Well," he said, nervously, "okay. Here's one. Don't drive the TARDIS while blindfolded. That's hard to argue with, right?" She harumphed, and he flipped a few pages. "Don't carry money except on Tuesdays. (flip) Ah, see, here's the one. No one touches the bananas except the Doctor. See? Right here. Many previous companions found these helpful. You're welcome to read it if you like."

"Oh," she said seriously. "You know, you might have a point. Can I please have a look?" Donna reached out and took the book, flipped through a few pages, nodding to herself, making serious noises. The Doctor relaxed a little in spite of himself. Finally, she was seeing reason.

"Do you have a pencil?" she asked politely. "Just thought of one really good addition that I think will help a lot."

He frowned for a moment, but unable to find a particularly good reason not to comply, he dug out a short, stubby blue pencil and passed it over to her. She furrowed her brow and wrote for just a moment, chewed on the eraser and stared into space, then wrote a quick flurry of words and closed the book.

She handed it back to him. "Here you go," she said with a smile, and flounced off towards her room. "See you later!" she called over her shoulder.

He opened it with a niggling sense of nervousness he couldn't quite explain, thumbed through for a minute until he found the first empty page, and turned back one to find Donna's inimical loopy scrawl. "Rule 287: Donna doesn't follow your stupid rules, you big martian."

"Donna!" he shouted. She did not answer or appear, to no one's surprise. "Oh fine," he muttered. "I'll just hide the bloody bananas."


	11. Rule 61: Don't Drink Alone

It was the clinking that woke her. And the moaning. And the sound of things falling.

"Rory!" Amy whispered, shaking him. The man slept like the dead. "Rory! Wake up!"

Rory groggily rolled over and made a sound that involved many, many consonants and far too few vowels.

Amy shook him again, harder this time.

"Wha- wha- WHAT!" His military training kicking in, Rory came instantly awake with the realization of potential danger. Where was he? A tentful of Roman legions? Guarding the Pandorica during the bombing of London? Oh wait. No. He was in their bunk beds. On the TARDIS. With his wife trying to shake his brain loose.

"Rory, something is wrong," Amy whispered. " I heard glass breaking and moaning sounds. Get up. We have to go see."

Grumbling quietly, Rory hopped up, pulled on some sweats and shoes, and the two of them crept out, following an alarming series of sounds until they ended up in the library.

A library in which a battle had clearly just been staged. Chairs were tipped over, the Doctor's precious books were flopped in every direction, some of them open with their spines in disarray. No one was in sight. And scattered here and there were a truly surprising number of empty of mostly-empty glass bottles.

"It looks like someone went on a bender in here," Rory whispered, senses on alert.

"Roranicus!" the Doctor roared happily, appearing suddenly from behind one of the bookshelves, bottle in hand. "Quite right! Quite right. Someone did." He staggered just the tiniest bit, and then plopped down on the red couch.

Amy blinked. "Doctor, you appear to be drunk."

The Doctor winked at Rory. "Your wife, you can't put one over on her, can you?"

"But, Doctor… you can't get drunk," Amy said. "Superior Time Lord physiology and all of that. Isn't that what you always said?"

The Doctor grinned blearily at her. "AMELIA POND!" He shouted. "Incorrect. I can, in fact, tie one on. But it only lasts for four minutes."

"Four minutes?" Amy repeated.

"Four minutes. And then my superior kidneys sweep it out of my system and I have to start all over again from scratch. It makes it rather an untenable amount of work, actually, not to mention expensive. Starting over fifteen times an hour and all." He stopped and checked his watch, which made a little ding. "Speaking of which…" He uncorked the bottle he was currently holding and leaned back for a large swig.

"He has a timer set," Rory muttered under his breath.

"Ok, there, champ, slow down," Amy said, diving in and sitting next to him on the couch. She eased the bottle from his hand and patted him gently on the leg. "What's going on?"

He looked at her confusedly. "Told you," he said, then paused for a burp. "Drinking."

"Yes," she said, in that patient tone one uses with a kindergartner who is teetering on the edge of a sugar crash. "But why?"

"Oh, well…" he said, leaning back. "River said I couldn't hold my liquor. Said a lot of things, actually." He stopped and frowned, pointing a wobbly finger at the both of them. "Your daughter has quite a mouth on her when she's angry. I think perhaps you should have raised her better, Ponds."

"Well actually we didn't raise her at all," Rory pointed out reasonably. The Doctor looked unimpressed.

Amy prodded him. "So you had a fight with River? And you're proving some kind of a point here?"

The Doctor nodded, looking sheepish.

"You know, you don't have to do this alone. If you want to have a drink sometime we'd be happy to keep you company," Amy said.

"Didn't want to wake you," the Doctor said, shutting his eyes briefly and leaning back against the couch.

"Ok, Doctor. New rule," Amy said, using her stern voice. "Just like you don't travel alone? You don't drink alone. Neither is a good idea. You are much too old and much too powerful to be in sole command of the world's only remaining TARDIS while under the influence of — " she stopped and glanced at Rory, who had been counting empty bottles and mouthed the results to her "–of SEVEN bottles of whiskey. Good lord, you could have driven us right into a planet, or mooned the Shadow Proclamation, or who knows what."

The Doctor snorted. "Now that's a thought. Where are we parked right now, again?"

"Ok, you," Amy said, pulling him up to his feet. "You're going to bed."

"Not necessary," the Doctor whinged. "I'll be completely sober again in…" he checked his watch, "three minutes and 20 seconds."

"Tough," Rory said, steering him down the hallway towards his room. "As your father-in-law, I'm telling you that this night is over."

The Doctor continued to fight half-heartedly, but he did in fact let them steer him into his room, push him into his bed, and pull his shoes off. He was asleep and snoring before the four minute alarm ever went off again on his watch. Just to be safe, Rory pocketed the watch on the way out.

They slid the door shut behind them, and stopped to look at each other.

"Ok," Rory said, "that was a new one."

"Yep," Amy replied. "Hope he gets a hell of a hangover."

"I'm sure he won't. Superior Time Lord physiology and all that."

Amy snorted. "Should we call River, do you think?"

Rory thought for a minute. "We probably should. But let the man sleep. We'll buzz her in the morning. Give him a fighting chance."

Amy nodded. "Parenting is surprisingly hard."

"Especially when the parentee is 900-odd years old."

Amy smiled and pulled him in for a quick snog. "Back to bed, Mr. Pond."


	12. Rule 130: Don't Die

1  
The Doctor rarely swore, but when he did he did so with gusto. And now was one of those moments, a moment when it seemed appropriate to reel off a string of Time Lord curses such as had not been heard since the fall of Gallifrey. Which he did, in between dodging around boulders and pulling Amy along behind him as they were fired at from above and much too close behind.

Thwump! A lethal-looking dart whizzed past his ear and landed in the trunk of a tree just a stitch to his right. He shuddered. The Coraxians were a species that most closely resembled a large race of dragonflies, but with various enhancements that made them nastier and more evil tempered. Really more like someone had crossed the body of a dragonfly with the temperament of an ostrich. A very grumpy ostrich. Whose mother you had just insulted.

Who was also armed with blow darts.

Thwack!

"Come on," the Doctor shouted. "We're almost there!"

"I'm trying!" Amy loved the running, she did, but this was pushing it. Something about being under attack aerially while stumbling through a forest strewn with really large rocks made this much less fun than their usual escape. It was really hard to run swiftly when one was scanning the ground every second to make sure one didn't turn an ankle.

Sure enough, though, she caught a flash of blue through the trees in front of them. There, finally, was the TARDIS, in a small clearing. The Doctor shoved her ahead of him and turned to face the Coraxians, sonic in hand, trying to buy a bit of time for her to get the door open.

"Go!" he shouted. "Get inside!" He shot a beam of light at the three closest creatures, knocking the blow darts out of their mandibles and causing them to pull back a bit.

Amy ran for the door, pulling her key out from under her sweatshirt, and had just slid it in and heard it click when something pierced her shoulder. The world lit up in a bright flash of pain and then went black all together as she crumpled to the ground over the threshold of the TARDIS.   
.

2

The Doctor saw Amy fall out of the corner of his eye and turned to blast the one Coraxian who had slipped by him, his shot sending it reeling backwards into the trunk of a tree with a startling crack. He didn't stop to see if it was alive or dead, just scooped up Amy's frighteningly still body and ran inside the TARDIS, shouting a few commands to send them into the vortex as he raced her to the medical bay.

"No, no, no, no," he muttered, pulling the overhead scanners down over Amy's unconscious form. Her skin was ashen, her fingertips were turning blue, and her breathing was very shallow. A quick scan revealed that all of the muscles in her body were seizing up. He slapped an oxygen mask on her and programmed the scanner to look for toxins as he took a few moments to hook up an IV.

In a few seconds, the screen showed that the payload of the dart was a rare toxin that disrupted motor control and lead to rapid paralysis and resulting asphyxiation. He got to work, rummaging through the cabinets for the right antidote, mixing and injecting, and then watching anxiously to see if she improved.   
.

3

Amy emerged bit by bit and not without some reluctance from a long, deep sleep. First came the awareness of a bright light on the other side of her eyelids. This did not encourage her to open them. Then she started to hear things. First some banging sounds, metal on metal, like someone was placing a spoon on a tray or banging a pan lid. Then, more subtly, she became aware of a quiet murmur from a voice she loved. Someone was holding her hand and talking to her in a low, conversational tone.

Amy, it said. Come back to me. Please be all right. Don't leave me to fight the bad tempered insects of the universe without you. Who will mock my bow ties if you're gone? I would miss it, the mocking. And you do it better than anyone.

She felt a hand on her forehead, comforting and cool, and the touch of a pair of lips on her forehead.

Amelia Pond, the voice said, Where have you gone?

"Ow!" Amy cracked open an eye and was rewarded with the most blinding light. "Too bright!"

The Doctor dimmed the lights and then bent over to greet her.

"You're back!" he said gently. Even in her weakened state, Amy could see the anguish and relief written all over his face.

"Was it bad?" she asked.

He nodded. "Almost lost you from this one. The venom nearly suffocated you and the antidote stopped your kidneys. Luckily the TARDIS medical bay has nanites that can repair just about anything, and they built you some new ones."

Amy looked startled. "I have new kidneys?"

"Yes. You might notice it next time you use the bathroom," he said. She blinked at him confusedly. "Your urine might be blue for a few trips. It'll go away."

Amy groaned. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Two days."

"And you've been sitting here the whole time?"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and nodded, gave her a smile. "Of course. Where else am I going to go?"

Amy swung her legs to the side of the bed and tried to sit up, only to be met with a rush of dizziness. The Doctor steadied her with an arm around her shoulder, tried to slow her down. But two days of lounging in the medical bay was more than enough. Amy Pond wanted a shower and something to eat, and then her own bed. Enough of this lingering at death's door malarkey. In the end, the Doctor had no choice but to half escort, half carry her down the hallways to her room, run her a bath, and then linger nervously outside listening for the slightest sound of trouble until she was done.

Once she was tucked in bed, he disappeared for a while, only to show back up with a tray with a cup of steaming broth of some kind. It smelled somewhat like chicken, but Amy knew better than to ask. Much better to believe it to be something familiar and palatable. The Doctor propped her up on pillows and all but spoon fed her, until she finally grabbed the spoon away from him.

"Doctor," she said, "enough! I promise you, I'm back. I'm not going to pass out on you, I'm not going to stop breathing, and I can feed myself."

He smirked a little. "Yes, yes, okay. I can see that you're returning to your senses. The day you let me hover over you is the day I'll truly be worried about you."

Nonetheless, he insisted on staying with her, sprawled out in a chair to the side of her bed. Oh don't mind me, he told her in a voice that brooked no argument, I'll just be over here reading, you go ahead and pop off to sleep or whatever you need. Nope, not a word out of me. Amy shrugged and rolled over, pretending not to notice when he pulled out the sonic and checked on her vitals. She cocooned up in her cozy blankets as best as she could, falling almost immediately asleep. .  
4

When she woke up, he was gone, and she could tell another significant chunk of time had passed. On testing out her limbs, she found that she felt much better and stronger this time. She slipped on a robe and a pair of slippers, ran her hands through her hair in a lame attempt to straighten it, made a cursory swipe at her face and teeth, and wandered out into the corridor.

She found him in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating jam directly from the jar.

"Amy!" he said. "You're up! This is good news! The best, really. Good job, you!"

Amy smiled as she refilled the teapot to make another few cups. She sat down at the table across from him, examining him closely. She could see the effects of the strain of the last few days in his face. His skin was paler than usual and there were creases between his brows. His eyes looked deeply tired and his fingers were fidgeting as they tended to do when he had been under undue pressure.

"Doctor," she said, "I need to say something."

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For saving me from the bugs. For taking care of me."

The ghost of a smile lit up his face. "Amelia Pond. I'll always care for you."

The teapot whistled, and Amy got up to freshen his cup and fix her own. They drank their tea in silence for a few minutes.

"Oh," he said suddenly. "And that reminds me. I've added a new rule."

Amy sputtered on her tea. "What? Rules again? I'm pretty sure we have enough of those."

He smiled. "This is a good one. Rule 130." He cleared his throat and spoke in what he considered his official tone. "Companions are under no circumstances allowed to become mortally wounded."

Amy mock saluted. "Aye, captain. Sorry, sir. I will attempt to not die on you again. At least not this week."

His face blanched. "No, Amy. No. Don't even say it. You will not die. I will keep you safe. Even if I've done a rubbish job of it so far." He took a deep breath. "Things are going to be different from here on out."

Amy's eyes widened in alarm. "Uh, no."

He looked surprised. "Excuse me?"

Amy put her tea down on the table, rather harder than she intended. "You are not going to suddenly start leaving me behind and only taking me to boring places because you think everything else is too dangerous or for god's sake - " she winced at a sudden pain in her side - "telling me to go wait for you on the ship while you fight the bad guys."

His brow furrowed. It seemed wrong to be irritated with her when she had just almost died, but there it was. No one could push his buttons like she could.

"You're not the boss of me, Amelia Pond," he said, his voice tight.

"And neither are you." Her ire was really rising now. "Promise me you're not going to start being all overprotective and acting like I'm all ... fragile. If you are, I'll kill you myself."

He met her eyes for a long beat, obviously contemplating whether he had it in him to really fight her at this moment, and then suddenly he softened. "Okay, Pond. You can still play." He smiled and shook his head. "It's not like I could stop you if I tried, anyways."

"Ok, good," she said, fighting a yawn that somehow escaped anyhow. "That's a relief."

The Doctor laid a hand on her shoulder, then headed out to tend to the console for a while. Despite his assurances, Amy had a feeling he would be quietly trying to make things dull for a bit, out of fear and out of concern. It was sweet, to a degree, but she knew she was going to have to fight this battle with him a few more times before he recovered his confidence and accepted that she was okay.

They would argue, they would discuss loudly, they would negotiate, and in the end they would be just fine. Amelia Pond and her Doctor, they were always fine in the end.

 

Doctor Who and its accoutrements are the property of the BBC, and we obviously don't have any right to them. Any and all crossover character


	13. Rule 242 - Only the Doctor Makes the Rules

"Doctor," Amy asked one morning as they were finishing breakfast, "how come you never had so many rules before? I swear when I joined you there were only like five and now you're up in, what, the three hundreds?"

"Because I never needed as many before," he said simply, finishing his tea. Amy's right eyebrow rose in a way he found most threatening. "But there were way more than five, before you," he hurried to reassure her. "At least thirty."

Amy paused to take this in. "Are you saying I'm just that much trouble?"

The Doctor pushed back his chair and dumped his dishes in the sink, jostling her slightly as he passed by on his way out of the room. "Absolutely,' he called behind him, his voice affectionate.

Amy pouted for a moment, then tossed her hair over her shoulders and decided she could live with being difficult to control and classify. There are better things to be than well behaved.

And anyways, she was pretty sure he was joking.

.

She found him later researching something in the library, surrounded by stacks of dusty books, at least three of which he appeared to be reading at once. He looked up at her approach, a pencil behind his ear and a pair of glasses slipping down his nose.

"Can I do something for you, Pond?" he asked. He looked, she thought, very much a librarian.

"All right, yes. I've made a decision!" Amy announced. "I am making a rule."

He closed the book he was holding, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. "Oh, do tell, please."

"There will be no new rules from this point on," Amy said. "Because honestly, who can keep track? It's not like you're writing them down anywhere."

"Uh uh." The Doctor smirked and brandished a pencil at her. "Companions don't make rules."

"Oh, is that a rule in itself?" she asked sarcastically.

"It is now! Rule 242. Only the Doctor makes the rules."

"You know, you're letting all this power go to your head."

"Yes, I am," he said, then huffed a bit at the finger she chose to show him.

"Besides," he added reasonably, "who says I'm not writing them down?"

Amy blinked. "There's a rulebook?"

He nodded. "Little blue notebook, kind of like River's. You must see me writing in it once in a while."

Amy thought. She had seen him hunched over a notebook once in a while, doing something with a scrubby little pencil, but he quickly tucked it away any time she happened by.

"Well, can I see it?" she finally asked.

He shook his head. "Private."

"How can it be private when it consists of a list of rules I'm expected to follow?"

"Well it would hardly be any fun if you had a full list to just follow, now would it?" he asked, incredulous. "Where's the spontaneity in that? We wouldn't have anything to argue about, and everything would be all well behaved and boring."

She rolled her eyes. "You," she said slowly. "Are mental."

He picked up a pencil and mimed writing a new rule on an invisible pad on his hand.

Amy laughed. "All right, all right, stop. No more rules today, ok?"


	14. Rule 311: Always Keep Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a funny one this time, just a short little missing scene I was working on a while back, set just post Vincent and the Doctor, with Amy and 11.

Rule 311: Always Move On

It's only later, after they've spent a ridiculously long time staring at the sunflower painting in the Musee D'Orsay and wandered along the Seine and even bought and devoured a baguette without even making it back to the TARDIS – it's later that evening when she asks him a question that's obviously been building up in her all day.

"So, who else could we save?" Amy asks nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Yknow, downtrodden artists of the world," she says, wrapping her scarf back around her neck with obviously false bluster and cheer. "Who else could use a little inspiring? Find out that the world appreciates them after all?"

It's almost an appealing thought. So many geniuses unappreciated in their time that he would dearly love to meet. Where to start? Toulouse Latrec? Monet? Oh for Rassillon's sake – John Sebastian Bach?

But he knows better. He looks at her more closely. "Amy, you know we can't make a habit of that."

"Of what? Helping great artists not feel like failures? Yes, it didn't save Vincent, but…" she stops abruptly, and turns around to fiddle with the railing.

"Amy," he says, voice gentle.

She shrugs, feinting nonchalance. "S'ok, just being silly. I know we can't go busting into artists' timelines over and over. Not even sure how we got away with it the first time."

"Because I know what I'm doing," he says quietly.

"Right." She straightens her shoulders and turns around, eyes abnormally bright. "But only the once. So, where're we off to then?"

He doesn't answer, just walks over and envelops her in another hug. Seems to be becoming a habit, hugging Amy, he thinks. Especially now when she has no idea what she's grieving. Rory. Rory lost and unremembered. And he takes her off to bond deeply with a tortured man just a few months before his suicide? Stupid, stupid Doctor.

He pulls back and looks at her. "How about some sleep before we head off somewhere else?"

Amy shakes her head emphatically. "Nope. Off we go! Sleep can wait. I wanna see a planet. Take me to a planet, please, Doctor?"

He peers at her for a moment, knowing he should protest, knowing she's running and hiding from the pain and he should stop her, make her talk or something, deal with her feelings. But she blinks at him and gives him her best Amy Pond smile and before he knows it he's at the console, punching in coordinates for a nice, safe jaunt to somewhere sunny. No inhabitants. Just them.

Because to be honest, dealing with feelings was Rory's arena. He would've known exactly what to do here. He can't point that out, of course, because Rory is gone. Because Amy wouldn't know who Rory was even if he brought him up. Because he's hurt and destroyed everything he ever touched.

Her most of all, even if she doesn't know it.

But he swallows that knowledge, shoves it down in a hidden compartment, and sets the ship down with his usual rattle and jolts, leads her to the door and takes her arm in his with what he thinks of as chivalry, and escorts her out into the universe once again in a ploy to get a little more wonder and a little less pain back into her eyes.

He is the Doctor, and this is what he does. It should be a rule, he thinks, always keep moving, especially in the face of pain.


	15. Rule 54: Don't Criticize the Tunes

The Doctor was not good at waiting. He sat in the console room and tried to be patient while Amy did god knows what in the wardrobe. He jiggled his leg, and then his thumbs, and then all three at once. He recited equations under his breath. He made up a sonnet. He jiggled more.

"Come ALONG Pond," he finally cried out in desperation.

"Ok, ok," came her muffled reply, and then she stepped out onto the staircase leading down into the console deck with evident reluctance.

The Doctor's jaw literally dropped. Amy Pond was wearing what may have been the most unflattering, least attractive garment he had ever seen. It was bright orange, a shade which clashed horribly with her hair. It had long sleeves and a high conical neck showing not a single inch of skin, and the legs were loose and flared out at mid-calf into odd looking points. From neck to waist it went straight up and down, showing no hint of her figure.

It was literally the last thing the Doctor would ever have expected her to pick.

"Uh…" he said, trying to pick his words carefully, "that's a departure from your usual wardrobe choices, Amy."

Amy advanced on him. "It's your SHIP," she said, pointing a finger at his chest. "It deleted my entire wardrobe and every time I go to find something new all I can find is THIS thing. Or something like it. All bright orange and boxy."

The Doctor tried not to laugh. "Oh come on, there must be some kind of misunderstanding."

Amy gave him her I'm-dead-serious face and he followed her to her room. Indeed, the closet was empty. Then they went to the wardrobe. All of the fabulous outfits were still there, and the Doctor was free to touch them, but if Amy tried to select something, some kind of force field would spring up and prevent her from doing so. All that appeared to be left available to her was one small section about two feet wide filled entirely with orange and bright pink clothing, colors that anyone knew she would never wear by choice.

"This is very strange," the Doctor said, examining things more closely. "It's like she doesn't want you to access anything that would look good on you." The shipped hummed a little in the background. He looked at Amy more closely. "Any idea why that would be?"

Amy colored slightly. "No." She turned away and started rattling through the available options in her one clothing rack.

He walked up behind her and she could feel the waves of amusement coming off of him. "Amy," he said, "what have you done?"

She mumbled something about "book" and "wall".

"What was that?"

"I might've thrown a book at the wall last night when she kept making noises when I was trying to sleep."

The Doctor consulted for a moment with the TARDIS in his head.

"She was trying to sing you to sleep," he reported a moment later.

"Oh." Amy looked abashed.

"Apparently she'd been studying up a bit on the musical customs of Earth in your time periods, and she was... what was that?" he cocked his head. "I can't quite get what she's trying to tell me. Something about punk and Pixies?"

Amy laughed softly. "Ah, well, that explains things." The Doctor looked puzzled. "I'll play some for you later. Great stuff. Not exactly go-to-sleep music."

Amy stopped and looked up. "I'm very sorry," she said. "That was really nice of you to try to sing to me. I didn't realize what you were doing." The ship hummed a little, sounding mollified. "How about we just stick to your usual sounds? I love falling asleep in the TARDIS with your humming in the background. No improvement needed."

With a zap, the force field disappeared.

"Ah, success," the Doctor said. "Now get changed so we can get out of here. Unless..." he hesitated. "Unless you were planning to wear that? Which is, uh, of course just fine with me."

Amy frowned. "Are you out of your mind? Of course not."

The Doctor was more than a little relieved. He made a mental note to download a comprehensive set of punk music from the late 20th-early 21st century to study later, while Amy was asleep. If the TARDIS liked it, he was more than happy to provide it for her.

Rule number 54, he added to his notebook while he was waiting for her to change, don't criticize the TARDIS's taste in music.

Rule 55, he added after another moment's thought. Don't mess with a companion's wardrobe.


	16. Rule 231: Don't Scare the Cook

The shriek and resulting crash startled the Doctor out of his calculations at the console monitor and sent his brain into overdrive.

Rose.

Trouble.

Run.

And he did; he used his sharp hearing to track down where the sound had come from and sprinted into the kitchen at a dead run, black leather jacket flapping behind him. Rose was pressed up against one of the walls, looking spooked, with bits of broken crockery scattered around her from a bowl she had apparently dropped. He noted that steam was curling out of the open freezer.

"What? What's wrong?" he shouted frantically, assessing her visually and seeing no apparent danger.

Rose, apparently beyond speech, gestured wildly at the freezer. He walked over and peered in. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He shut the freezer door and took her elbow, guided her to a chair while simultaneously pulling out the sonic to look her over more closely. Readings were normal, except for elevated adrenaline and heart rate, indicative of a good fright.

"What happened? Are you hurt? Did something attack you?" He peered at her, blue eyes concerned and intent.

"There's – " Rose swallowed hard and tried to calm down. "There's a creature in there."

The doctor breathed out heavily. "Oh Rose, is that all? I thought something was wrong. You can't go scaring me like – "

"Doctor!" Rose insisted, voice rising. "There is a living creature in the freezer."

"And?" he asked. Rose goggled at him. "His name is Jem. Well Jemmifeldorin. Did you even say hello or did you just scream at him? For heavens sake, Rose, your manners can be appalling sometimes. I'm sure you scared him half to death."

Rose took a deep breath and abandoned the dozens of protests that occur to her about this line of reasoning. Instead she cut right to the chase.

"You have a friend who is living in the freezer?"

The Doctor nodded. "Picked him up on our last stop. He needs to get back to his planet and we're taking him."

"And it's icy there."

"Right."

Rose spoke slowly and clearly, as if she's not sure he can understand her. "And you didn't think that maybe this is something you should have mentioned to me? So that I didn't set about to make us dinner some night and get scared to death by finding something small and purple blinking at me from the top of the ice trays? You're lucky I didn't smoosh him just out of sheer instinct."

"Rose Marion Tyler!" he fixed her with a stern look. "Why would you smoosh Jem?"

"I think that's missing the point a bit," Rose pointed out reasonably.

The Doctor continued to stare at her, clearly expecting an answer.

Rose colored. "Ithoughthewasaspacebug," she mumbled.

"What's that? Can't hear you."

"I thought he was a space bug," she said. "You know, like a space cockroach we'd picked up somewhere."

The Doctor sighed dramatically. "Rose, Rose, Rose. There's no such thing as space cockroaches." Well not by that name anyways. Best to keep that bit of information to himself, he noted.

Rose tried a small smile. "Well that's good news, I guess. Still, you should have told me, right?"

He had the grace to look a little abashed. "Yeah, meant to actually. Just forgot. You were asleep when I put him in there and it just slipped my mind."

Rose knew that was as close to an apology as she was likely to get, and that any further protests are just going to land her an eye roll, or worse a lecture on humans and their prejudices. File this one away under new things to be aware of when navigating around the TARDIS, she thought to herself. You never know what you're going to find.

The Doctor grinned back. "Now. Enough of this nonsense." He took her hand and guided her up and out of her chair. "Come on back over here and let me introduce you."

He made a mental note, though. New rule. Get a backup freezer somewhere separate from the food stuff. No point in scaring them out of a good dinner.


	17. Rule 89: No More Alone Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 12th Doctor makes a brief and rare appearance in my work...

It's a while before he remembers, after Darillium, after 24 years of night with River, after he has had some weeks to sit in a funk in a dark library on the TARDIS to meditate on loss and the pointless stupidity of caring about other creatures with their pointless and tiny little lives and why does he do these things to himself?

He remembers then. There is alcohol hidden away in the console room. River and her secret stash.

He is already admonishing the ship as he wanders out to find it.

"How?" he mutters to her. "Why? Why do you let them find things they shouldn't find, and hide things they shouldn't have?"

The ship maintains an innocent hum around him.

It takes a few minutes to figure out which of the roundels it was - it has, after all, been over 24 years (and seven weeks, and four days, and 34 minutes) since she unknowingly revealed her stash - but his memory takes him there after only a few tries.

He swings it open and finds what he remembered catching the barest glance of. One large cut glass tumbler full of a gorgeous amber liquid - Varoxian whiskey – and two small glasses. In the back is a small glass container of something that looks like dried leaves and which he pointedly ignores for the moment. Instead he hefts one of the glasses and nods approvingly. Heavy, satisfying to the hand. River was never the type for brandy or other sweetened, more feminine drinks in little tiny goblets. River, he thinks fondly, she drinks – drank – like an archeologist, hot and thirsty after a day in a dusty field and ready to throw one back with the best of them.

The thought hurts. All thoughts of her hurt. He pushes it away as fast as he can.

He pours one in her honor and takes a sip, swirling it around in his mouth, before he sits down on the metal stairs leading up to the bookcases and, for lack of anything better to focus on, offers the time rotor his best glare.

"I have a few questions," he says acerbically. "How did Clara know where all the TARDIS keys were? Why did Amy always know exactly where to find the most embarrassing box of pictures that I'd hidden away? How did River find out you could hide things behind a few of the roundels in here? And why on Earth could Rose always find me when I was trying to hide from her?"

The machine makes an innocent sound that is not unlike what a shrug might sound like set to music.

"Oh, no no no," he says, waggling his eyebrows fiercely. "You've been showing them my secrets. And you never told me that River took you out for trips when I wasn't around."

Absolute silence.

"Anyone else you let drive you when I'm otherwise occupied?"

The resulting hum is negative and sounds somewhat apologetic.

"That's it, then," he says, straightening up and downing the rest of the drink. "New rule. No more leaving companions alone with a sentient ship. Especially one who likes to meddle."

The TARDIS sounds disapproving, just slightly, but he ignores it.

"Not that I'm going to have any more companions." He walks over to the console, pats it in a way that's both fond and irritated. "I'm about through with this watching people go. Just you and me from now on, I think."

The TARDIS knows better. She's already got several highly suitable candidates in mind, all at various points across the universe. He'll never know how carefully she chooses his companions for him; silly Time Lord thinks he's doing the choosing but it's only because she looks across time and space and causality and finds a candidate who appears to have just what he needs – whether that's hope and an undying devotion to him, a sharp tongue and motherly instinct, an intellect he can spar with, or just a lovely sense of sarcasm to keep him on his toes. She hasn't quite narrowed the choices down this time – this twelfth incarnation is a little fussier than the rest, and there's his undeniable sense of grief from losing River to accommodate as well, although the TARDIS knows better than most that he will never discuss that, with her or anyone. Best someone entirely different this time, entirely new. Maybe not even human at all, she thinks?

She turns her attention back to the nine different time lines she's been studying and begins to narrow her choices down even further. Once she's decided, she'll of course override his steering at the most propitious and yet highly inconvenient moment and ensure that he and her choice collide. Hopefully in a situation involving a little danger to allow them to bond. Nothing like a little stress to foster a new relationship.

And then? We shall see, she thinks. But she's certain this new rule is one which she will never adhere to.


	18. Rule 713: Doctors Don't Apologize (Well Sometimes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This is an old snippet I was working on, set just after Kill the Moon, when Clara has finally had enough of the Doctor's abusive attitudes and sends him away, possibly for good. Clara/12.

1

Rule 713, draft: Time Lords do not apologize

I am done with companions, the Doctor thought as he quickly typed some coordinates into the console and slammed a lever home to take off. Of all the nerve. Telling me to take off and not come back.

He tried to ignore the little jab he felt somewhere beneath his leftmost heart on thinking of that. Absolutely it was indigestion and not emotional pain. Emotional pain was his previous incarnation's bailiwick, not his. "I don't do pain," he muttered.

The rotors wheezed to life – apparently this incarnation didn't like to set the brakes either, he noted wryly – and off they went to Gallifrey-knows-where. He honestly didn't care as long as there weren't pesky little humans there staring at him with their big tearful eyes and trying to make him feel bad about helping them.

He laid a hand on his sternum without even really being aware of it. There it was again.

.

.

2

Several galaxies away, the Doctor lounged at the bar of a particularly seedy watering hole full of reptilians. Reptilians weren't so bad, he thought, once you got used to them. For one thing, not one of them had a poker face worth a damn. It was quite easy to clean up at cards whenever your opponent couldn't help flicking their tongue in and out nervously whenever they were holding a particularly good hand. He had a pocket full of the local currency to prove it, and was now determinedly putting his gains to use purchasing the closest local equivalent of a good whiskey.

Whiskey, unfortunately, was made a lot less diverting by his superior Time Lord biology. He wasn't drunk, not really. He was just enjoying cycling it through his system, and of course using that to his advantage. If his partners at cards thought he was wasted, it would be even easier to put one over on them. He was thinking of trying his hand at hustling some intergalactic billiards in a bit.

"The magician at the end of the bar needs another bottle," the bartender hissed to his replacement as he went off shift.

"Not a magician," the Doctor muttered, his Scottish brogue thickening in irritation. But he accepted the bottle, carefully measuring out another handful of square plastic pieces in payment, and started in on another four minutes of blissful oblivion.

He was surprised to find himself in the alleyway behind the bar a little while later. He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. He had a vague memory of doing some kind of a dance up on the bar, and using his sonic to cheat at a darts-like game. At which he was caught. And ejected forcefully. Having come almost to the end of his pile of credits, though, it was just as well.

She wouldn't have liked it, this whole evening, he thought. She would've wagged her finger and sounded off at him for being generally irresponsible and hauled him back to the ship early. Clara Oswald, he thought, was no fun at all. Just a tiny little bundle of tightly wound bossiness. Who needed it? Not him.

He breathed in deeply to clear the last of the fifth bottle from his thoughts, and brushed the dirt off of his clothes. Back to the TARDIS.

Rule number 713, revision: People apologize to Time Lords, not the other way around.

.

.

3

The TARDIS, when he got there, was in what could only be described as a strop. Sparking when he touched the console, hissing dramatic from various vents. After reassuring himself with a quick scan and systems check that nothing was wrong, he was forced to consider the fact that the TARDIS was not happy with him.

"What?" he cried, arms out, circling dramatically. "What could I possibly have done?"

A gentle hum in his mind sounded almost but not quite like the scolding he had imagined receiving from his erstwhile companion.

"Is it Clara?" he shouted. "You don't even like her!" The lights flickered disapprovingly. "What? You think we need to go back for her?" He huffed dramatically.

Rule number 713, revision: Time Lords are never wrong enough to need to apologize.

"We're going to Pralaxis 4," he informed the ship, pulling the lever and spinning the rotor and setting the purple handle to just the right angle. "It's the second-best bazaar in the Leonine system, and I've got a little shopping to take care of. Clara can wait." He pounded the last dial into place emphatically. Best to show the old girl who's boss. "That's right," he announced archly. "I do not take my orders from you. I am Scottish, and you are not the boss of me."

The TARDIS landed with its usual wheeziness, then fell silent. He headed for the door with what he considered an insouciant strut, turned to salute the console, and opened the door behind him with a flourish, stepping out without even looking ahead of himself.

He was immediately hit in the face by a broom handle.

Or rather, a number of broom handles. Accompanied by the clatter of a bucket which he appeared to have stepped into.

He swore he heard the equivalent of a titter from the console behind him as he realized he was once again in the maintenance closet at Coal Hill School.

.

.

4

She was, of course, in her classroom. It appeared to be after hours, as she was sitting at her desk marking papers, one hand entangled in her hair. He watched her quietly from the dark recess of the hallway, spellbound in spite of himself. This new self retained entirely too much emotional attachment from his former incarnation. Sometimes it was all he could do to retain the appropriate level of crankiness.

"Well," she announced without even looking up, "are you going to stand there staring at me or are you going to come in and say hello properly?"

He guffawed. "You knew I was here?"

She looked up, eyes wary. "I heard the general commotion in the supply closet down the hall. And I thought I heard a distinct echo of a time rotor. Leave the brakes off again?"

"Well yes," he said, "but it's more fun that way."

She smiled, then reverted back to a serious expression. "So?" she said, all school marmish, laying down her red marking pen. "What do you want, then?"

He paused for a moment, considering. "Dinner?"

"Is that an apology?"

"No." he said quickly. Yes.

"Well then no," she said, picking up her pen again.

"Ok, ok," he sighed dramatically. "Perhaps a little bit of one."

"I'm sorry I abandoned you on the moon, Clara" she suggested helpfully.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, what you said, ok? That's what I meant." They blinked at each other for a moment and he all but willed her to let it go. "Let's go, then, can we go? I'm famished."

She looked at him consideringly, and he braced himself for rejection, onslaught, something, anything, but suddenly her gaze softened just a bit and a tiny corner of her mouth quirked just slightly. He was irritated to find that he could just see the slight tinge of humor working its way back into her eyes. Seriously, he was much too invested in this girl. He'd have to put a stop to it, soon.

But first, dinner.

He held out his hand to her and, to his surprise, she took it. It was warm and small and fit his in a way he couldn't explain. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and smiled as he pulled her out into the night.

Rule number 713, revision: Time Lords can learn to new things, once in a while, if they try.


	19. Rule 405: Don't Start a Prank War With a Time Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I admit this one is a bit unlikely of a scenario, but it made me laugh. And sometimes that is all it takes for a new chapter to emerge. Enjoy, and apologies for the long delays between chapters these days! So happy to see new readers still arriving!

1.

The Doctor was strolling back to the TARDIS after a lovely evening with River when he heard a tinny ringing sound that sounded like a phone. He ignored it by rote, until he had almost reached the ship. And then it hit him.

It was coming from the tiny compartment inset in the front door of the TARDIS.

He stopped, rocking back on his heels, and then flicked open the little door as if he expected a snake to pop out. Sure enough, it was the phone. After blinking a few times in puzzlement, he picked it up with two fingers and answered it gingerly, not at all sure it wasn't going to explode.

"Hello?" he said quietly, tensing for action.

"Hello? Hello?" a hesitant voice said.

The Doctor immediately felt concern. "Who is this? What's wrong?"

"I'm calling from the Trust for the Preservation of Heritage Wetlands," the tremulous caller said, clearing their throat and obviously warming to their subject. "Were you aware, sir, that over 8% of our current wetlands disappear each decade? Why just this year alone…"

"How did you get this number?" the Doctor cut in.

The caller paused. "I'm not sure. You're just on my list. Now if I could…"

The Doctor hung up. He stared at the phone for a minute in disbelief, then unlocked the door and went inside, shaking his head.

"Must be a fluke," he muttered. "No one has this number."

.

2

He was re-routing the phase shifters beneath the console a week later when he was startled by the console phone ringing loudly. He backed out quickly, cursing as he bashed his head against the upper panels. Only a few people had the console number, all of them important. Winston Churchill, a few prime ministers, a few people he owed money to, and of course the Ponds and other former companions.

"Yes, yes," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head and clutching the phone to his ear, "Hello? What is it?"

There was a strange clicking sound at the other end of the line but no one spoke. The Doctor felt the hairs rise up on the back of his neck. Was it an insectoid life form? An android of some kind? What kind of malevolence could this call represent?

A tinny, recorded voice began to bleat in his ear. "Congratulations! You have been selected for an all expenses paid trip to our new seafront condos, in return for sitting for a short presentation on how you could become the partial owner of one of our lovely homes. Stay on the line to –"

"What?" he shouted, dropping it as if it had singed his hand. "What?!" He whipped out his sonic and assessed the phone in front of him. No useful data was displayed. It was a phone. Plain and simple.

.

3

"It just keeps ringing!" he all but shouted, sitting at the kitchen table with the Ponds. "All the time. Both of them, the console phone and the one in the door that isn't even supposed to work. Literally all the time. At least two, three times a week."

Amy nodded sympathetically and poured him more tea.

"That's not technically all that much," Rory said under his breath from across the room, and was rewarded with a scowl that he blamed entirely on superior Time Lord hearing.

"As a matter of fact, it is quite a lot," the Doctor explained impatiently, "when you have a phone that is not only unregistered but not actually connected to any phone system on the planet and a phone number that is a more closely guarded secret than the location of the Queen." He sighed and rumpled his hair. "And it's driving me mental."

"It happens here too," Amy said, patting his hand. "Everyone hates it. Have you gotten the call yet about how your computer is emitting a 'signal'?"

The Doctor continued as if she hadn't spoken. "What's strange is that it doesn't seem to be any one person," he said in frustration. "I've traced the calls, they're all legit. All perfectly random telemarketers and cold calls, always from whom they say they are, not routed through any strange satellites or bounced off the moon or anything."

He stopped suddenly, putting his tea cup down his face white as a sheet. "Oh good lord," he said, "It wasn't you two, was it? Please tell me this isn't some kind of… some kind of horrible prank?"

Amy looked affronted. "Shut up, of course not!"

He looked unsure. "You can tell me," he said unconvincingly. "I won't, er, get all cross. Or not much."

Amy looked to Rory for help.

"Doctor," Rory said. "We're your best friends. Honestly. Like we'd go handing your number out to strangers."

"Right, right," he said, shaking his head quickly. "Of course not. Of course you wouldn't. Sorry, sorry." He raked a hand through his hair. "It's just messing with my head."

.

4

It rang shortly after he got home that evening. He was hardly even surprised.

"Who is it this time?" he said, voice dripping with disdain.

"Hello, sir," said a deep, masculine voice. "We're calling to inform you that you've been prequalified for a platinum level mastercard. If you'll just take a few moments…"

"How did you get this number?" he all but shouted. "Nobody gets this number!"

The man on the other end barely paused. "Why, from our files, sir," he murmured in his most soothing voice. "I'll just connect you now to our registration line so you can…"

He didn't hear the end over the crashing noise the phone made when he hung it up.

.

5

"Jack, I really think we should put a stop to this," River said, putting down her beer and leaning forward, elbows on the table . "I mean, it's been quite a hoot, but I really think he might lose his marbles if this goes on much longer."

Jack grinned his trademark mega-watt smile and signaled for another two shots to be brought over. "Oh, I know, I know," he admitted. "But I just can't resist one more. It's the best one yet."

"No one really has the number, though, right?" she asked, needing a little reassurance.

Jack shook his head. "No, of course not," he said. "I'm just using one junior tech at Torchwood who's good with voices. Secure line routed all over the place to look like it's coming from a bunch of different places. No harm done in the end."

River studied her drink, feeling a tiny bit guilty. She and Jack weren't even supposed to know each other. The Doctor had made quite a point of never introducing them, which of course made her all the more determined to track down this Harkness character herself and see what the problem was.

And of course, what she discovered was that Jack was no problem at all. He was charming, intelligent, and handsome. They had become fast friends. It was always good to have a backup adventurer, someone else who understood her complex relationship with time and space and, well, the Doctor, if she were fully honest. There weren't many people she could turn to when she needed to talk about her rather unusual husband. The only other two who could possibly understand were her parents, and that made confiding about marital spats and difficulties all kinds of uncomfortable. Plus the man knew how to fix a vortex manipulater. She had found him to be an invaluable connection.

"River! River," he said, cajoling. "Stop brooding and drink your drink. After this one we will cut off the calls completely, I promise. He'll never know it was you."

"Us, you mean," River said with a smile. "Or actually, almost entirely you."

Jack shrugged winningly. "I owed him one after he busted up a really great vacation I was taking. I lost a bundle on that reservation after the hotel was vaporized."

"But you still got the girl, I assume?" River asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Well, of course," Jack said. He grinned. "But it took a lot of work to get her to forgive me after we were unexpectedly shuttled back to Earth from our cancelled vacation on a cargo shuttle full of fertilizer. She wouldn't answer my calls for weeks."

.

.

6

The Doctor was deeply asleep when he was once again woken by a ringing from the console room. He roused himself with dread and stumbled down the stairs to the central console.

"Yes," he said tersely.

"Why hello," a female voice purred.

"Who is this and what do you want," he snapped.

"This is Danielle," she replied huskily. "And the question is what do you want."

"Well," he said, warming slightly in his half-awake state. "No one ever asks me that, do you realize? In all these years, I can count on one hand the number of times someone asked if they could do something for me. Oh Doctor, save me, help me, fix this, fix that, rescue so-and-so, save the planet..." He sighed. "Never just a 'how are you and could you use anything today?'"

She laughed softly, a quiet and warm sound. "Well, sugar, you're in good hands now. Why don't you start by telling me what you're wearing?"

He frowned into the phone. "What do you need to know that for? I'm wearing what I always wear. A jacket. Braces. Stripey shirt. Bow tie. Pants slightly too short. Boots a little too big. Wobblyish hair."

"Mmmmm," the voice said, "sounds nice. Why don't you take some of that off while I tell you about what I'm wearing? Because I," she purred, "am wearing much, much less than you."

The Doctor literally dropped the phone in his shock.

"Hello?" the voice called out from the swinging receiver. "Hello? You still there, baby?"

The Doctor breathed deeply for a moment and then resolutely picked the phone back up. "How," he said slowly, "did you get this number?"

The voice on the other end paused. "A friend of yours bought you a call. Met him at a bar the other night. He told me it was your birthday and that you'd been working too hard and needed a pick-me-up."

"A friend?" the Doctor repeated, a dark thought forming. "A male friend?"

Not-truly-Danielle made a noncommittal noise, obviously realizing this call was going far afield.

"Tall? Handsome looking git?" he asked, his words popping out. "Long military jacket with lots and lots of shiny buttons?"

"Yeah," she said, "that sounds like him."

The Doctor hung up.

"Harkness," he muttered under his breath, "you are a dead man."

First things first, though, he had to spend some times on the computer files of the whole planet to wipe his number from all of the various sources that appeared to have received it. Then he had a few visits to make, quick stop to apologize again to the Ponds for accusing them of this foolishness, reroute some cables on the TARDIS so that the phone in the door should never be capable of so much as beeping again, call off a few search parties he had placed on the trail...

And then, when all that was settled, he had a visit to make to Cardiff, where he was going to do his best to turn the life of one Captain Jack Harkness utterly upside down.

Rule number 401. No one messes with a Time Lord when it comes to pranks. No one.

Jack would learn.


End file.
